The Aspergian

tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41802963050364809222024-09-13T09:00:35.091-05:00The AspergianI am a quirky Aspergian woman. I am transcribing the journals I wrote as a young mother. As I read my old journals, I see the confusion I felt. I see my intense desire to be alone. If you have or know someone with Asperger's Disorder, you are especially welcome to comment. I hope you enjoy my journey. Grab a cup of coffee and join me!Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-797037695497970902020-09-21T16:48:00.001-05:002020-09-21T16:48:15.003-05:00Tuesday was my birthday

I was born 58 years ago at 7:25 am. The third girl, the 5th child of my parents. My mother was 32 - so was my dad.

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-7207796044353159732020-09-18T17:04:00.002-05:002020-09-23T16:28:51.828-05:0025 random things about Lady Door

by Lady Door on Thursday, January 29, 2009 at 9:57pm I broke into a car and stole a CB radio when I was in high school. Received a brown belt in Judo when I was 16. I used to cry myself to sleep at night as a child because I wished I was a boy. I always believed that my Grandmother loved me the most of her 32 grandchildren. I have been sewing since I was 4 years old. That

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0Lakeville, MN 55044, USA44.6400893 -93.230727344.591250585570279 -93.299391850781248 44.68892801442972 -93.162062749218748tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-63593734852242896412011-12-31T19:05:00.001-06:002011-12-31T19:09:05.807-06:00Shame no more.

Undated (but definitely 1979) To me, I am my world, I am the only thing in this world I am the only thing the world around me doesn't matter because I am me and if I'm bad, or fail at life the only one to know is me I am not part of this world I am not part of this life I am not part of this world, I am not who I am I am not a part of this world I am not who I am, I am not who I am I am not a

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-21740726160821173782011-07-14T12:55:00.001-05:002011-07-14T13:00:27.951-05:00I know fear. It creeps up on you unexpectedly.

January 27, 1978 I’m afraid to walk downstairs. I’m afraid of the dark and the cold. I’m afraid of being alone and I’m afraid of other people. I don’t want to sit where I am. I’m afraid people will laugh. I hurt myself often. I hate to wake in the morning. I hate facing the day. I feel as though I’ll burst into tears or scream… I hate when I walk in the street. I’m afraid I will trip on my feet.

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-74316250082691470962011-04-09T19:48:00.002-05:002011-04-09T19:49:22.279-05:00The Dining Room Depression

Takes place in 2075 Henry Johnson was usually a polite, young boy. There is only one time I can remember where he lost his behavior, when his family had its "Dining room Depression." It all started back in the years 1974 and 75, which was about 100 years ago. It was the time when they had moving vehicles called "cars". They were run by gas, which is a form of oil in which we ran out of about 50

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-65682300862346882232011-04-02T00:46:00.001-05:002011-04-10T15:33:44.637-05:00Don't make me waste my life. You know I believe in something.

August 1976  Sometimes, I wish I had a gun. I would kill myself if I did. Sometimes, I am really happy and I am glad that I didn't have a gun. Sometimes, I wish I was being held by a man. Sometimes, I am glad I am alone. .................................................... I am alone. No one is ever with me, though people are near me, I am still alone. I am alone because no one knows how

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-52769081189269030712011-04-01T00:13:00.002-05:002011-04-01T09:34:07.303-05:00It is hard to grow up knowing that you are different, but not being able to understand just how

August 22, 1976 Sometimes I don't understand anything at all. I learned today that I hold in my angry feelings so that is why I hardly ever get mad. When I get mad I usually will go to my room and think over what has just happened. If I hear about things people have said about me I don't get mad, but I get mad if they say something about my friends. When I get mad I will come up to my room and

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-10244148173227479062011-03-26T02:29:00.005-05:002011-03-27T02:46:54.168-05:00I don't want to remember anything

December 15, 1987 I just don't care. It shouldn't matter. You'll be okay, Sue. Just don't care - it doesn't matter if Cris wants to fool around. If he does, it's his own problem - its's funny how I always write down what I think I should feel - it's like a subtle brain washing technique. Julie called today, kind of accused me of giving Amy lice - jesus christ. She must have said "okee dokee"

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-72573331996362604322011-03-24T11:35:00.003-05:002011-03-24T11:46:29.741-05:00I am curious about how other people think

Undated It's funny - you really don't know what you want. You can't even write your thoughts down. There is a blockage. I even call myself you. I think each thing as I write it down..slowly saying each word as it appears yet knowing what will come next. You say it right before you finish like rub(necks)ber. I really analyze myself. That must be where I am different from a lot of people, I

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-44544803608216821862011-03-19T17:48:00.000-05:002011-03-19T17:48:05.866-05:00This post hurts me to write

November 21, 1987 It's kind of funny. Cris is this pained person trying desperately to have his cake and eat it too. He wnts lots of women - always will have them. I am making him leave - can't say I didn't try. Now he will live with Lisanne. She is so happy and "my gosh, he's so cute!" She doesn't know... I feel really good. Undated My back still hurts. Cris is back home but it is

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-22068164661655934992010-11-09T23:47:00.000-06:002010-11-09T23:47:01.846-06:00Together alone with myself

November 12, 1987 Oh, I'm surewrite to musicnever could. November 16, 1987 Oscar Wilde 1880, unknown photographer Oscar Wilde I saw his picture in a book I stopped and stared. I checked the name Oscar Wilde My God, what a handsome face. I might go insane. I don't know if I can just go ahead and leave. My head starts to ache. The pressure is really intense. I'm really too afraid to act.

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-20703300562353097262010-11-09T00:53:00.002-06:002010-11-09T00:56:11.652-06:00When I think you are in love with another

November 9, 1987 When I think you are in love with another, I must continually go to the bathroom, my bowels turning to rid myself of this disgrace. I clean the little things in my life. Scrubbing with Mr. Clean the motif "Crown" on the stove until the years of grease embedded in its intricacies are removed, along with the paint. The bed moves too much, threatening to collapse on my little ones.

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-42243230601412549222010-10-08T02:44:00.000-05:002010-10-08T02:44:55.709-05:00My story starts and ends with me

November 2, 1987 School conference with Aja's teacher today. She does well in school, but needs some work with letter sounds and math concepts. She is fine though and tries hard. I think she gets frustrated too easily. I am sick. It is really terrible to be sick. Ianthe fell asleep counting pennies today at 11:30. She must have been pretty wiped out. We had lots of fun on Halloween, in Bayport

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-77208198218448492702010-10-03T21:28:00.002-05:002010-10-03T22:24:31.627-05:00Survivor's guilt

Sharon Olds, last year I wanted to remember her. I never have found a book of hers. Well, I've never looked either. Tears come into my eyes when I read it. If I read it again, the tears will come again. The tears will flow. Oh, it hurts. When you just "have" to do something. Nobody knows, or cares, but there is a sense in you that makes you perform. An urgency in your voice/eyes that lets people

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-68819621802745781412010-09-29T00:37:00.000-05:002010-09-29T00:37:13.898-05:00I am on a Catherine Wheel

October 15, 1987 "Can you see to write?" Phebe asked, "maybe I am taking this atmosphere thing too far." We sit in the darkened room, lit by one window, uncurtained and a small flame from the purple candle that Phebe has brought. Today is Martyr's Day. I remember being in class with Phebe last Martyr's day. What in the heck is Martyr's day anyways? I imagine it must be some quasi-religious day

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-41889382801162156042010-09-26T02:11:00.001-05:002010-10-03T14:06:24.908-05:00treacherous skin circles

October 12, 1987 My hands are very dry. It has to do with the season. in junior high school, the palms of my hands would peel and looked like some sort of disease, The spiral curvatures of the peels would flake and I would attempt to chew the dead skin off, pressing flat the palm of my hand against my chin and nose trying to reach my teeth towards the treacherous skin circles, snake-like,

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-16424867673563722272010-09-20T19:30:00.001-05:002010-10-03T14:06:57.052-05:00Allen Ginsberg

October 1, 1987 I believe this entry is in response to poetry being read to us in class by Phoebe Hanson. Kansas disco gay girls "Chances are" farm boys fat asses festivities and mechanical things irrevocably connected. "I'm a victim of telephones" telephone victimization always rings at the most inopportune times but we always answer. "Flying over Detroit" injustice in feelings of murder,

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-86711854258704457262010-09-10T22:40:00.001-05:002010-10-03T14:08:28.363-05:00Things I might look for (so as to tear down the walls) Part 2

Watch out when you start really wanting something. Having coffee with Cindy today, I asked her to order the children's book "Everybody knows what a dragon looks like" I told her I would write her a check. Thinking about it now I wonder "why?" I have read this book maybe ten times already. Do I really need to have it? Watch out when things start making too much sense. I remember studying the book

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-456286430350111972010-07-30T18:33:00.000-05:002010-07-29T00:39:34.929-05:00Things I might look for (so as to tear down the walls)

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-51462573193460452842010-07-18T20:52:00.001-05:002010-07-18T20:53:47.577-05:00Lists

September 29, 1987 Indecision about my mind. Just that wondering if I see things my own way, and what that is, and where it will lead. Sifting through things that I like, that he likes, that she likes, that they like and trying to find the balance. Striking up a balance in myself. Daring to say, do, be things I might otherwise become. This is all pretty vague. What is the difference between

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-54482478806049089802010-05-25T23:59:00.001-05:002010-05-27T23:37:19.300-05:00My grandmother knows something I do not know

Blanche by Kate Green My grandmother has lived a long time also. The woman - I feel she that if she had not lived (it's true) that I would not be here. This poem, written by Kate Green for her grandmother touches me deeply inside - deep down where I feel I must touch my grandmother but I cannot reach her. I sit in her apartment. She sits. We watch the children. Oh, I know she loves them and (I

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-73818790256423098842010-05-14T11:22:00.002-05:002010-05-14T10:09:22.214-05:00She curses as she gardens...loudly

September 3, 1987 The woman at the bus stop in a lavender dress has a peculiar lump in her middle. I know not whether this lump is stomach or breasts. She rubs the front of the lump meditatively as she looks up the street for the bus. She is anticipating it...it comes. The bus from the other direction comes. Off comes Mary, the hunch backed old woman from three houses down. She curses as she

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-75959691401909818812010-05-12T20:01:00.004-05:002010-05-13T14:44:04.272-05:00That was a mistake I made when I was very young - I didn't...

 September 1, 1987 That was a mistake I made when I was very young - I didn't September 2, 1987 My God I wish I could have at least finished my sentence. What a cryptic. Now my whole life I can imagine what it was that was my mistake. Writing a definition for poetry earlier was so very difficult. How can one define poetry? I've read over some poetry. Poetry makes me feel wonderful. See,

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-48101873908201777012010-05-08T23:25:00.004-05:002012-03-13T10:14:17.421-05:00Lady Rye's Incomplete and Totally Subjective Guide to Aspergians

May 8, 2010 If you met one Aspergian, you have met one Aspergian. We are as different from one another as neurotypical people are from one another. We have been around, always, without a name or label. We are a genetic variant of the human brain. We have some similarities in behavior, but so do Neurotypicals. We are "on the spectrum". The spectrum includes similar brain structure "disorders":

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4180296305036480922.post-53652899912686368172010-05-03T15:15:00.003-05:002010-05-05T13:10:38.114-05:00The Odd Idea Lecture

The Odd Idea Lecture by Alexander Duncan Lowe To have all the answers doesn't give you direction. For not knowing answers you will only suffer the consequences. So what is there to do? Consequences can be bad and good. Why choose bad consequences for yourself or act when you cannot see the consequences of actions? This is a sideways sort of way of talking about being responsible or not. It is

Lady Ryehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13282725680828839139noreply@blogger.com4